9

THAT SUNDAY SETH CAME TO CHURCH with Will and Laura. They slid into the pew in front of the one where Ella sat with her parents and grandmother. Seth wore stiff new blue jeans with a white button-down shirt. His boots were polished, and his hair was missing the dent from his ball cap. He looked a little uneasy as they settled in for the opening prayer. Ella thought to move up and join the threesome, but decided they would look too much like paired-off couples, so she kept her seat. Will made a face at her while Seth nodded with a serious expression.

Throughout the service, Ella snuck glances at Seth. He seemed to relax once the opening prayer was over and they moved into the first song. He had a nice baritone and sang as though he genuinely enjoyed it. Ella caught herself smiling as she watched him, then forced her focus back to the hymnal in front of her.

“I am weak, but Thou art strong;

Jesus, keep me from all wrong;

I’ll be satisfied as long

As I walk, let me walk close to Thee.”

She stole another glance as they launched into the chorus. Seth closed his eyes and lifted his face as though singing only for his own pleasure—or God’s—as though he’d forgotten there were people in the pews around him.

“Just a closer walk with Thee,

Grant it, Jesus, is my plea,

Daily walking close to Thee,

Let it be, dear Lord, let it be.”

Watching him, Ella felt as if she were spying on something private, intimate almost. She looked away. Behind the pulpit, Richard sang as he flipped through the Bible, probably to find the Scripture he planned to read. She peeked at Seth one more time as the song neared its end. He looked back at her, the hint of a smile curving his lips. She blushed and turned her attention back to the page. Now why was she flustered? The song ended, and they all sat and focused on Richard as he began his sermon. Ella tried to pay attention, but couldn’t get the image of Seth singing out of her mind.

After the closing prayer, the handful in attendance made their way out front and stood around talking and enjoying the early September sunshine. The conversation focused mostly on how much land had been bought up around the church and how bulldozers had come in to begin work on what Mavis had heard would be the lodge.

“Going to make it out of logs. Not a cabin, though, much grander than that.” The gray-haired pianist leaned on her flowered cane and lowered her voice. “The sort of place none of us could afford. Ritzy.”

Richard finished shaking hands at the door and came to stand near Ella. He touched her arm in greeting, then tucked his hands in his pockets.

“How about you, Preacher? Ain’t it your business to keep up with what’s happening in the community?” Mavis squinted at him like this was a test.

“What’s happening in the community?” Richard repeated.

Mavis made a face. “That developer buying up the land and likely bringing in highfalutin folks with more money than sense to make us feel inferior.” She waved her cane all around. Ella wondered if she needed it or if she just liked having a prop.

“And a good thing, too,” Steve Simmons said. “This is probably our only chance to get anything for this falling-down church with its bad plumbing and even worse wiring. It’s a miracle the place hasn’t burned down.” He poked a finger in Mavis’s direction. “If they had less money and more sense, they probably wouldn’t want this land.”

Mavis glared at him, then turned to Richard. “Well?” Mavis raised her eyebrows.

Ella saw Will and Seth ease up to the fringe of their little group. Her parents were getting the car, and Gran stood right next to Mavis. Although her speech was much improved, she seemed to have embraced quiet as her default mode. An expectant silence bloomed.

“Well, I suppose the thing to do is invite Keith Randolph—I believe that’s his name—to church. He might be looking for a place to attend while he’s here, and Laurel Mountain would be convenient.”

Mavis blew air from between pursed lips. “Fine, fine, invite him to come sit and sing with us, but what are we going to do about his buying up all the land? He’s practically putting folks off property that’s been in their families for generations. He might even try to put us off the church property.”

Richard wrinkled his forehead. “I thought he was paying a fair price. And I’m not aware that he’s approached anyone about acquiring the church property.”

“Give him time,” Mavis said. “No respect for plain folk.”

Steve waggled a finger at Mavis. “If this feller wants to pay a fair price for the church and land, it might be what we need to get a new start. Let ’em have it.”

Mavis’s chin dropped, and she looked like he’d suggested they all strip down to their underwear and dance around the cemetery.

Steve held up a hand. “I’m just sayin’, that old building needs to be rewired and reinsulated. The roof leaks in places. It’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. And that bathroom we tacked on the back has a toilet that runs all the time, and the water’s so hard it clinks when you run it in the sink.” He looked at the others standing around and appeared to take courage from a few nodding heads. “I’m just sayin’ if we can get a decent price for it, we could put us up a brand-new building down on the paved road. Maybe have a community room with a kitchen or something. Might get some folks back interested in going to church.”

There were murmurs of approval. Ella felt like someone had just suggested she trade her grandmother in for a newer model simply because she’d had a stroke. She hadn’t taken the idea of the church being sold seriously, but now doubt began to tickle.

“But the heritage and history,” she blurted.

Richard held both hands up. “I can see this is a potentially divisive topic. Let’s all go home, pray about it, and have a church-wide discussion in the near future.”

Ella hoped Richard knew what he was doing, but thought he sounded like maybe he was trying too hard. She sensed someone behind her and turned to find Seth standing there.

“I’m not sure Richard fully grasps the situation,” he said.

“Of course he does,” Ella snapped. “But he’s not going to jump to conclusions based on rumors and doesn’t want us to, either.”

Seth held both hands up. “Good for him.”

Ella took a deep breath and decided to change the subject—she didn’t want to even imagine a world without Laurel Mountain Church in it. “Did you enjoy the service? I know Gran is pleased to have a few extra here this morning.”

“I enjoyed the singing,” Seth said. “I like those old hymns.” He looked at her as though he’d gotten a really good idea. “I’ve been a few times before and I might even come again.”

Ella flushed—something she was prone to with her fair skin—and smiled to cover it up, fanning her face with the bulletin. “That would be good. I know it would make Gran happy.”

“Just Gran?”

“Everyone I expect. We’re all glad to have more folks coming.” She glanced back at Richard, who was still trying to mediate between Mavis and Steve. “Might put this talk of selling the property to rest if we could get attendance up.”

Seth touched her arm much as Richard had, but this time she felt like she’d scuffed her feet on the carpet and touched a doorknob. She forced herself not to jump.

“Will and I have a meeting with Keith to discuss forest management and regulations related to the processing of deer. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Ella nodded, at a loss for words. Richard approached them as the group wandered off toward their cars.

“You’re meeting the developer? Let him know we’d be happy to have him attend services here—get to know the community.” Richard looked like the idea pleased him. “As a matter of fact, if you’ll wait a minute I’ll write him a note inviting him to come.” Richard hurried back inside before Seth could say anything.

Shrugging, Seth watched Richard go. “Not from around here, is he?”

“Why do you say that?” Ella bristled.

“No reason. He’s just . . .” Seth looked back at Ella. “Never mind. He seems like a good guy and his sermon wasn’t half bad, either.”

Ella started to say it was better than that, but found she couldn’t remember exactly what the topic had been. She’d been too busy watching Will and Laura hold hands. Plus Seth had distracted her with his singing. She opted to remain silent as Richard returned and handed Seth a folded piece of paper.

“I’m sure this enterprise isn’t as elitist as Mavis fears. Thanks for reaching out on our behalf and for coming to church today.” He moved closer to Ella and placed a hand on the small of her back. “Hope to see you again.”

Seth’s gaze lingered on the spot where Richard’s hand disappeared. About the time Ella began to feel uncomfortable, he nodded once. “Reckon I just might do that.” He reached toward his head as though for a hat, then tugged at his ear instead. He nodded again and ambled off toward his truck.

“Interesting fellow,” Richard said. “Friend of the family?”

“He and Will work together. I’ve only met him recently.”

Richard made a noncommittal sound. “Your mother invited me to Sunday dinner. I told her I’d drive you home if that’s all right with you.”

Ella assured him it was as they walked toward his dusty Subaru. She slid into the passenger side and watched Seth pull out of the dirt lot—sleeves rolled up and a bronzed elbow crooked out the window. Not very dignified for a Sunday, she thought, even as she looked again, watching him drive toward the land under development.

Perla thought Seth looked surprised when she asked him to take her out to see the future hunting preserve. She’d stolen a moment to speak to him at church when she didn’t think anyone was watching, or listening for that matter. She still didn’t feel confident about her speech. But he agreed to take her on a tour readily enough. She found herself liking this young man—he was direct and plainspoken. He might even remind her of Casewell a bit.

Perla was waiting at the door when he pulled up on Tuesday. Ella had gone into town to run a few errands, and Perla hoped to be gone and back before her granddaughter returned. “Let me get my scarf and sweater,” she said, grateful that she could sometimes speak a whole sentence without losing words or tripping over her own tongue.

She tied a gauzy scarf over her hair and slipped on a nubby beige sweater Liza Talbot knitted decades ago. She rubbed the fabric covering her arms, supposing it would last forever. Hoping it would.

They chatted as Seth drove over the winding country roads, although Perla let him do most of the talking. She was surprised that he shared a good bit of personal information, like the fact that he was adopted and had grown up in South Carolina where his parents still lived. They even talked about his work.

“Are you . . . close to your family?” Perla asked.

Seth shrugged. “I guess. I see them when I can, and they like to come up and do mission work at a place my great-uncle Ben started over in Kentucky.” He frowned and stared out the window. Perla was about to formulate her next question when he spoke again—she was learning that silence often invited others to fill it. “My family isn’t like yours. You’re all right here, on the same land you’ve lived on for generations. Shoot, you folks have three generations practically living together now. My mom and dad were always looking for their next ‘calling’ so we moved around. Guess I’d like to know where my roots are the way you do.”

He glanced at Perla as though realizing she was actually listening. “Not that they aren’t great. My parents are really good people. It’s just sometimes . . . well, like everyone was saying about the church. Your family built that. I’d say that’s pretty special—knowing where you come from that far back.”

Perla reached over and squeezed Seth’s arm. “It is.” She wanted to advise him that it was certainly no more special than having parents who loved the Lord enough to follow where He led, but laying the words out like that one after another overwhelmed her. “Your family’s special . . . too.” It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but it would have to do.

Seth smiled like he appreciated her efforts, puny as they were.

Soon they passed the church and crossed onto land that would be part of the hunting club. After driving for maybe ten minutes, they came to the area where construction had begun on a massive log structure. Seth explained that it would be the lodge, a sort of central spot for hunters to gather, eat, and socialize.

“This land belonged to Wes Cutright,” Perla said. “His six children squabbled . . . after he died.” She tried to remember how it used to look. “I suppose Mr. Randolph made them an offer—” Oh, what was that line from The Godfather?—“they couldn’t refuse.” She paused to form the words she wanted to say next. “Wes would like having hunters here . . . better than children fighting.”

Bulldozers pushed dirt around, and some men were clearing trees off to the right. A man who appeared to be dressed a little better than the others peeled off and walked toward the truck. When he got close enough, Perla recognized Keith from the picnic. Seth lifted a hand and called out to him.

“Hey there, Keith. Brought Mrs. Phillips to see the show.”

Keith peered in Seth’s window. “It’s some show. Want to take a closer look?”

Perla nodded, keeping her words to a minimum.

Keith walked around to her door and helped her down, then held out his elbow so she could take his arm. Perla gave him a good once-over before they started out—she’d only gotten a glimpse of him at the picnic. Keith was of average height with salt-and-pepper hair. He was thick, but not fat. He wore blue jeans and expensive-looking work boots that had plenty of dirt on them. His shooting shirt had patches and gussets, fancier than anything the men around Wise would have worn. And she was pretty sure he smelled of Bay Rum.

Keith squired Perla around the construction site as if she were an investor or potential member. Seth trailed along behind, saying little. When they returned to the truck, Keith handed Perla up as though she were a fine lady and the beat-up Ford Cinderella’s coach. Perla held on to his hand for a moment.

“Come have dinner with us next Sunday,” she said. “And you too,” she added, including Seth. “We’ll eat at Henry’s—more room there.” She released Keith and clapped her hands, finding her delight in the idea had loosened her tongue. “It’ll be a fine party.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, ma’am. I generally do paper work and get everything in order for the coming week on Sunday.”

Perla frowned. “If God wasn’t too busy to take Sunday off, then you shouldn’t be—” she searched for the word and found it—“either.” She patted Keith on the shoulder.

He hesitated, lowering his head and scuffing his boot in the dirt.

“My pork roast makes grown men cry.” Perla smiled. “That’s what made my . . . husband fall in love with me.” She hoped he’d say yes because she’d used all the words she could find to persuade him.

Keith laughed softly. “Ma’am, I expect he would have fallen in love with you anyhow.” He heaved a sigh. “All right then. Count me in, but don’t be expecting any offers of matrimony.”

Perla swatted at him.

Keith eased the door shut and stood watching as they drove away. Perla kept an eye on him in her side mirror, noticing how utterly alone he looked in the midst of all that activity.